


prayers of the undying

by Anonymous



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Angst, Blood, DSMP, I'm Bad At Tagging, Older Siblings Wilber Soot and Technoblade, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), War, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:15:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29665074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Creation starts with nothing but black and white, floating by itself in eternal darkness. Life is given, and with it comes Death. Life and Death bring war and change, as well as reminders of mortality and its consequences.-is this yet another god au? yep. i am only human? also yes. the temptation was great.
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12
Collections: Anonymous





	prayers of the undying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life in a world with made of nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is super tiny in comparison to what I usually write, but I just wanted to set things up and transitioning into what I want to do just ended up making more sense as another chapter, so...here’s your shrivel for now.
> 
> Also, to set some ground rules- these are based off of their DSMP characters, not the ccs themselves! Any relationships will be platonic as well.

Some think that in the beginning, there was nothing. That there was only a void, empty of life or matter. 

That assumption was mostly correct, save for the formless being at the center of all of it. They had been there as long as they could remember, and were perhaps older than the void itself. Whether it had grown around them or they had grown within it, they could not remember. Thoughts were vague pictures, images that had no real substance. There was nothing to see. Nothing existed, and so the thoughts he had resembled only the vast void at the tips of his fingers, laid out in front of him for eternity.

It was when he finally twisted his fingers into that endless void, sliding before they finally found purchase, that he discovered he could create whatever he wanted. At first, he did not know what to create, or that there was anything to create, before his mind supplied that anything other than jet black void would be pleasant.

So he watched as in his hand, something pale and bright, a direct contrast to the empty space around him, began to form. It was flat and slightly curved, a shape he wasn't too sure what to call. It felt smooth, and he ran his thumb over its surface.

Lifting it up, he settled it on his palm, his free hand rising to caress its edge and hold it up to his face. In it there were no reflections. He did not truly exist, and here in this void there was no light to reflect his image. Only black and white now. The being's fingers paused in their movements, and it thought to itself. Perhaps if there was no reflection, he could create the light it needed to do so.

-

At his feet, water flowed past him, cascading over rocks worn down by its constant movement. Grass swayed at his feet, brushing up lightly against shoes he had never known he would come to wear, clothing a form which had come to exist only after humans- _people_ \- had been created. The porcelain mask that concealed his face from the world felt cool as ever, constant in its existence as the first item to ever be forged from nothing.

He saw his own reflection in the watery, distorted by its movements, and the happy smile he'd carefully painted onto his mask's surface. It was nothing more than a scribble he'd watched a child scratch into the dirt with a stick, having left the view of his parents.

But that was the first child in this world. In his world. The smile meant more to him than he cared it admit. It meant his success in creating a world more self sufficient than he could have ever imagined.

That same self sufficiency scared him. It wriggled into his core and told him that he'd made it too perfect, and one day this system would turn in on itself and eventually become obsolete. He realized this when on one of his usual trips back to see the child, he found him gone, with a gravestone outside the home and two grieving parents.

Where there was life, there was also death.

He feared death, despite his immortality, if only because of the threat it opposed to his perfect world. He knew death was necessary, and that to destroy it or chase it away would on guarantee ruin.

The temptation he felt to throw it at of his world was overwhelming as he stared at its form. It stared back at him, wings tucked up against its back in a neat fashion that would look practiced had he not known how young this god was in his world.

It looked aged already, and he knew that this was not the case. The god had stared back at him, unsettled, before the tug of death had pulled it away again. It was not yet experienced enough to sit idly by and let death take its toll. He had not yet learned that he was only a vessel for its devices, a scapegoat for the mortals who feared their permanent end.

He did not kick him out. He did not tear him from the very fabric of existence like he wanted to, and watched the god grow from afar. His world remained peaceful and intact, while Death learned his position in all of its machinations. He watched as other gods came to be in his world, either brought into existence by his own hands or purely through the actions of the people he had created.

He watched as Death harbored two of his own, whose names and titles were far more complex than a simple word could portray. Eventually, he came to shelter another, a child who had gold laced ichor in his veins, but not the body to harbor its true power. It was strange to him that the boy was valued as a brother by Death's wards, and as one of the god's own children.

It reminded him of that first child in his world. The one he could credit with the misleading smile of his mask, and his realization that he could not exist without Death.

It reminded him that gods should not become attached to mortals, lest they realize that despite all of their fabled invincibility, they could still be hurt.

Should he hope to bring pain to gods he barely knew, and had acknowledged would have come into existence whether he tried to stop them or not?

Should he be the one to bring that pain?

Should he truly show Death what happened when attachments were made, while accidentally making attachments of his own?

He did not know. He did know, however, that just like he had discovered himself to be a god, he would find the answer to all these questions with time.

He dreamed that one day he would get his sweet revenge upon Death, for cursing his world with their existence, whether it be by his own hand or someone else's.

He dreamed.

And, as he would find out, he was what his dreams hoped.

Dreams.

He was Dream, god of creation, of life. Not of vengeance, no, but that would not stop him.

Perhaps nothing would, other than vengeance itself.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are super appreciated!
> 
> If you see any issues with the tags or ratings please let me know, I generally suck with them


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